


The Foolhardy Boys

by shinmegaymer (frontierpodiatrist)



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 1: A Fantasy Harvest Moon
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Fainting, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, M/M, Overworking, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frontierpodiatrist/pseuds/shinmegaymer
Summary: Camus has a few regrets, and has experienced a lot of things he didn't expect to happen, and almost all of them somehow involve Raguna.
Relationships: Camus/Raguna (Rune Factory), Melody/Sharron (Rune Factory)
Kudos: 5





	The Foolhardy Boys

His shoulder aches on rainy days.

The injury is old, healed to nothing but a fine scar across his skin, but something in the muscles there trembles when the weather is bad. Today is one such rainy day. The weather’s been inconsistent the past couple of days, snow, then sleet, then sheer dry cold, and now rain. Neumann’s practically quit his job at this point, with how often he’s simply “sat out” of working. It’s not a cold winter, and it’s not a white winter either, really. It’s just wet. And boring.

He’s come to terms with living in the countryside, really, he has. One too many fights with his pop, one too many stupid decisions on his part, watching Raguna face off against the Sechs army, and he’s come to terms that maybe adventure and glory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He  _ has.  _ It’s just that ... well, it’s still boring. Camus has lived in Kardia for all his life, with the same 20 something people, and he craves something  _ else _ sometimes. He doesn’t wish he lived in the Sechs Empire anymore, or that he was a warrior, or even that Melody would look his way (he gave up on that particular avenue awhile ago). Sometimes it just gets to him, that maybe this is all he’ll ever know, that he’s missing something out there in the great unknown. His pop insists that it’s as good as it’ll ever get, “ _ trust me” _ , but he can only vouch for life in the Sechs Empire. He’d never know, and never will know, what life is like in the capital. What life is like on those cities nestled in the corners of the mountains, those islands in the sea, those sprawling forests full of monsters and treasure.

Maybe he’s been talking to Zavier too much.

Raguna’s told him firsthand what spelunking is really like, what battling truly feels like, exhausting and more often than not unexciting. Even so, he feels some form of envy that Raguna can do it at all. He tried, once. “Truth to tell, I wanted to be a warrior. Fighting is how real men are supposed to live, don't you think?” he’d said. Raguna just tilted his head and asked, “what’s stopping you?” Leo wouldn’t sell him a sword, so he snuck in at night and took one himself. Brought a big shiny claymore and charged right into Carmite Cave in the dead of night (no, he didn’t have a permit). Raguna found him bleeding there on the ground, foolhardy and too stubborn to ask for help. He slung his uninjured arm around his shoulder and trudged all the way back to the clinic. His pop spent the entire time stitching up the wound chewing him out. This was years ago. Now his shoulder aches on rainy days.

He didn’t know his pop had lived in the Sechs Empire until Raguna told him, one day, after the army had been chased off. He’d been musing about it, what life was really like on the other side of that border when Raguna had piped up with a, “why don’t you ask your dad?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Your dad. Edward used to live in the Sechs Empire.”

“ ... Oh. I didn’t know that.”

He’d felt a bit of (okay, more than a bit) resentment that his pop could speak more to an amnesiac man who wandered into town one day than his own son. Maybe the weight wasn’t as heavy, he couldn’t say. His pop didn’t tell him a lot of things, barely anything really, for a long time. And Camus never asked, either. They fought about it. A  **lot.** He didn’t want to dredge up old memories, about the state of things there, about Camus’ mother, didn’t want to trample over his son’s dreams (even if they’d eventually get trampled on anyway). Camus said that was cowardly of him, to keep that information hidden away, to be a bystander to his son’s fantasies without giving any proper discouragement only for him to hurt himself in his desperation for something fantastical. All his pop said was, “I’m sorry,” while looking at his shoulder with a forlorn expression. Camus realized then that maybe they both had their fair share of regrets, and buried the hatchet.

Still, he yearns sometimes. 

Melody and him are good friends. At least he thinks they are, it’s hard to tell with her. He never ended up telling her how he felt, because in the end it was shallow enough that he didn’t care all too much when she told him she had feelings for Sharron. His own lack of caring had startled him at the time, he’d based such a large portion of himself around his own future (hopefully) with her. He hadn’t accounted for his feelings to fade away or change. And fade away and change they did. He found himself thinking about Raguna a lot. It started out with simple thoughts. Wondering if he’s found anything in the caves today, if he’ll visit the shop, how he’s treating his monsters. Then it became more he has really nice blue eyes, pondering if he’ll ever settle down with someone (wondering why thinking about it hurt his chest), hoping he doesn’t get his memories back just so he’ll never leave. The intensity scared him, he’d been prepared to leave Melody behind even if he missed her, but the thought of him leaving behind Raguna (or worse, Raguna leaving behind him) pulled at something dark and greedy deep in him.

To paraphrase, it freaked him out.

He didn’t even know he liked men. _Hell_ , he didn’t even know he liked anyone other than Melody. But in retrospect, maybe he never really liked her all that much either. There was no real moment of realization either, no brush of hands or a special moment. No thought where he suddenly looked at Raguna one day and thought, “yeah, I’d die for you.” It just ... happened without any fanfare or explanation. Maybe he fell for his battle prowess, his kindness with humans and monsters, his annoyingly pretty face. Hard to say. He’s gotten used to it now, the warm and fuzzy feelings along with the fire that burns up his chest. Camus knows instinctively that no matter who Raguna chose, no matter where he went, he’d support him even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt. He just **_really_** does not want to have to do that.

Luckily, he’s starting to think he won’t have to.

It’s not as if he has any plans on telling Raguna (he definitely doesn’t, he’s a coward when it comes to fessing up to his own feelings). But it’s been a while now, and Raguna has never showed any interest in settling down. Granted they’re still young, and he could always change his mind one day, but the disinterest gives Camus some solace so he doesn’t think about the “what if”s. Raguna’s own feelings have always been somewhat of a mystery. It’s not as if he’s secretive about them, but rather that he just doesn’t express them unless asked. His face gives away nothing, nothing like Zavier (who everyone but Mist seems to be able to read, the poor guy). If just based on appearances he’d say that Raguna and Mist were a couple for how often they’re involved, but if they were everyone in town would know about it by now because a.) Mist would tell them whether she meant to or not, and b.) secrets mean nothing to Lynette. So it continues to remain a mystery.

He doesn’t think anyone knows about his own (except Melody). He’s never been one to go at lengths to hide how he feels, in fact in general he’s always been rather forthright, but something’s different this time. Maybe he’s just resigned himself to a one sided love before anything has even happened. Something tells him that’s the case. Even in the off chance it was reciprocated, it’d never work out. There’s so many options for Raguna, more than he could ever possibly comprehend, Camus is just a man living in a small town with nothing going for him. Not especially rich, not anything outstanding to look at, no real hobbies, no aspirations anymore (not even leaving town), no ⏤ wow, it’s no wonder Melody never looked his way.

She knows how he feels, not because he told her, but because she claims he is as easy to read as a book. He  _ really  _ hopes that’s a case exclusive to her (and in fact, refuses to believe otherwise for his own peace of mind). Her teasing is relentless (“ho ho ho, you like them tall and pretty, huh? well, actually, me too”), but he takes it easy knowing she’s too cowardly to confess to Sharron, too. The both of them are similar, he thinks, Sharron and Raguna. Mysterious. Hard to read. Raguna’s friendlier, sure, more social, but they’re both difficult to get a read on. Camus thinks it’s sort of ironic that he and Melody share the same taste. He used to think she was a bit hard to grip on too, until they actually started talking, and then it was more like a busted faucet that’s too slippery to close properly. She’s lonely, talks to fill the empty space left in her house, the rooms too large for just her. He is too.

Only recently, his pop has been sending him out on rescue missions. It’s stupid. It’s really,  _ really  _ stupid. The war is over (it never even started), all the bigger chaotic monsters are gone, yet for some goddamn reason Raguna keeps going into the caves (and not even for the fields, either). You’d think after all this time fighting he’d have learned some better strategies, but he keeps getting his ass kicked. For awhile now, his pop tells him, when Raguna would take a long time to come back, he’d just go and get him himself. But the effort is “weary on these old bones”, so it’s up to Camus now to carry the torch (and Raguna). He’s always knocked out cold when Camus finds him, battered and beaten on the dirt, or the snow, or the grass. Despite his own recklessness and injury sustained in a cave, his pop doesn’t seem all too worried sending him off alone to go collect Raguna (who seems to be in much of the same shape, but somehow always heals just fine; lucky bastard). He can’t tell if it’s torture or a blessing when Raguna is unconscious on his back, arms draped around his shoulders, mumbling in his sleep. It’s become somewhat of a weekly ritual, at this point. He never sticks around to wait for Raguna to wake up, too self conscious about what the expression on his face might give away, so he always leaves before it happens. That is, until Raguna wakes up on the way back.

He doesn’t know why this is the first time, it’s been at least 10 times he’s done this now, and the path this time isn’t any different (nor is the time, late into the night or the early morning). “Camus,” he says his name knowingly, even in the midst of waking and sleep, cheek squished against Camus’ back.

“ ... Yes?” The inquiry is hard to force out, anxious as if to give himself away by voice, like he’s been caught doing something incriminating, rather than helping a friend.

Raguna breathes out slowly, the left side of his face is swollen, the release of air coming out in a whistle. “I thought Doctor Edward ... was usually the one to pick me up,” he says it like a statement posed as a question, like he’s confused but can’t be bothered to put any in his tone out of exhaustion. “How long have you been doing it ... ?”

“10 or so times. It’s not a big deal. You’re pretty light, you know that? Not very heavy for a farmer and a fighter,” Camus phrases it like a complaint, rather than in truth the appreciation it is. Raguna is lithe, nimble, and fast. He isn’t built for heavy weapons, even though Camus has seen him wield them just as gracefully, he was built for thin and long weapons and dancing around a battlefield narrowly avoiding hits with every movement. Camus is heavy, weighed down with muscle mass from construction and heavy inventory overhauls from the docks to his store, built like a brick wall and with all the speed of it. He wishes he could move as fast as Raguna, as light footed and capable in battle. “You hardly weigh more than a wooly.”

The man in question laughs, something airy and light carried in the crisp night air, barely enough force behind his breaths to make the hairs on Camus’ neck stand up. “Doctor Edward says I should build more muscle, eat more, train more. He thinks the reason I get knocked out so easily is because I don’t have enough mass to take the blows,” Raguna puffs an exhale on the bare skin of Camus’ nape and he shivers, just a little bit. “10 times is a lot. Maybe I  _ should  _ start working on that. Haha.”

Camus sighs, exasperated but still smiling, snorting a cut off snicker. “Take it from me that when Pop tells you to do something, you should do it. Better to just do it, and don’t ask questions.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he can’t see his face, but something tells him Raguna is smiling.

For once, he sticks through the whole scolding. Lara and his pop rip Raguna to shreds verbally, stern expressions and waggling fingers galore. He just sits there and takes it, nodding thoughtfully as if he were even going to listen to their advice, sheepish as he scratches the back of his head. Camus mocks the two of them from behind them, leaning against the wall, puts a hand on his hip and waggles his finger strictly. The face Raguna makes in response makes Camus’ heart pick up, a hand slapped over his mouth to stop from giggling as Lara reprimands him for the umpteenth time about reckless behavior, she puts both hands on her hips in a expression of outrage (“are you laughing at me?!”) before his pop finally decides they’ve done enough for tonight and let him go. Raguna waves at him from out the door, and Camus manages to wave back without getting red (he thinks). He hopes.

They run into each other more, in the next couple weeks. Camus tries to write it off as coincidence, but he’s starting to think either he’s subconsciously following Raguna, Raguna is following him, or the native dragons are trying to tell him something. He has no idea  **what** they’d be trying to tell him, but it’s an option. (He thinks the first one is most likely).

He’s taking a bath, Raguna walks in. He tries to keep his eyes above chest level.

He’s working outside, chopping wood. Raguna walks by, pulls him into a chat until by the time he realizes it, the sun’s already gone down and he only did half his work.

He’s taking a walk through the shrubbery and shriveled leaves, the wet slushy soup of dirt and snow behind Kardia, and Raguna is already there taking one of his monsters for a walk.

Everywhere he goes, Raguna is  _ already  _ there, or Raguna  _ will  _ be there.

Camus can’t really complain, after all he likes Raguna, so it isn’t a bad thing. It’s more that he’s complaining about the fluttering in his stomach, the nervous cracking pitch his voice gets to when he says “ _ h _ ᴱ y ,” in return to a greeting, and the racing pulse he can’t seem to quell. He did say that he’d given up, resigned himself to the possibility it would remain unrequited, but that was under the impression it’d  **stop** eventually. Instead, it just keeps getting worse. Winter is almost over, bringing the disgusting weather with it, but it’s still cold outside. Sacred Night is tonight, and normally he’d just hang out with Melody, gripe to each other about their disastrous love lives. Except,  _ apparently _ , hers isn’t as disastrous as he previously thought because the reason he can’t go to her house is because Sharron is already going to be there. He’s happy for her, really he is, he just wishes she’d chosen ... a different date to finally hook up. A date where he wouldn’t have to sit alone in his house with his pop, picking at a plate of lentils and meatballs, until they retire to their rooms for the night and he stares out his window for the next 3 hours wondering whose house Raguna is hitting up.  
Turns out he doesn’t really need to wonder for very long when he comes up the stairs.  
He doesn’t bother knocking, which is fair enough because Camus and his pop are fine with him visiting at any time and they’re already upstairs anyway, but because he doesn’t bother knocking Camus jumps out of his skin when Raguna says, “good evening,” standing in the open doorway to his bedroom. “What are you doing here?” he manages to choke it out without any issue after his heart settles into a more steady rhythm (as steady as it gets around Raguna, that is), tense in his surprise, sitting on the edge of his bed. Raguna smiles, says, “visiting you,” and walks up to him slowly. “Can I sit next to you?” Camus swallows, “go ahead.”

He  _ really,  _ **_really_ ** hopes Raguna can’t hear his heart thudding in the silence.

“How are you doing?” he says, and Camus almost flinches again (almost), but manages to rein it in at the last minute to a barely noticeable lurch.

“Bored. I was going to hang out with Melody, but she’s already got company, so I begged off,” he says, twiddling in his thumbs in some anxious thoughtless movement.

The expression that passes over Raguna’s face is ... odd. That’s the best way he can describe it. Something like shock, wide eyed and blinking, and his mouth open just a tad, lips soft looking, and Camus abruptly looks back up again to cut off that train of thought. He tilts his head a little bit to the side, one of his cowlicks leaning to the other side. “You’re not with her? I, um, I thought you two were a thing,” he says, one of his hands going to his chin in an expression of thought.

“Oh, no, no way. That ship has  _ sailed, _ ” Camus laughs a little bit, nerves making it sound a bit forced, though he genuinely means what he says. “We’re just good friends. She likes someone else, and they’re hanging out for tonight. I’m uh, I’m alone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I see,” he says, and Camus would be hard pressed to say that the look on Raguna’s face is anything but pleased. A soft smile, lidded eyes, and a light blush in the dim candlelight; he looks utterly satisfied with this turn of events. It takes his breath away for a moment, stunned back into heart pounding silence. It bewilders him. If he liked Melody, surely he wouldn’t have that kind of reaction? “Wh-what about you? You’re not visiting any of the girls?”  
Raguna gives him a pursed smile, letting his hand drop from his chin to twiddle the coarse fabric of his blanket between his fingers. “Well, no, I’m visiting you right now, aren’t I?” he looks up at Camus, directly into his eyes, and the emotion in them is so warm and - oh. He looks away for a moment and seems to contemplate something, before reaching his hand out and placing it over Camus’ -  **oh.** When he looks back up, Raguna’s face is red, but there’s a self satisfied grin on his face, eyes glinting with mischief and ... as best he can describe adoration.  **_Oh._ **

Melody can have her time with Sharron, he thinks. His hand twitches under Raguna’s, flips his palm upwards to squeeze his hand in reciprocation. A dope-y love sick grin of his own spreads across his face to match his company, elated and wracked with nerves.

He can deal with this just fine.


End file.
